Bleak Memories of History
by xRevaWolfx
Summary: When a World Conference leads to a whole world turning mad with twisted memories of the past, how will the Axis and the Allies survive with their sanity intact? Will they all pull through with stronger bonds to each other, or will their pasts consume them until they are nothing but empty shells of their former selves or worse? I don't own Hetalia or any of it's characters in this.


Yup...this is my first time publishing something online. Kind of nervous about what people will think, but meh, I had to do this at some point. A bit of warning, this is a Dark Hetalia Fic, so be warned of blood, gore, and any unpleasantness that any of your favorite characters go through.

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Veneziano ran as fast as he could; the ripped white flag that had been used countless times before to represent his cowardice in battle trailing behind him. He had been running for what seemed hours from a looming, dark figure following him…that was starting to pick up speed. Above him, Veneziano could hear the countless growls of the over-worked engines of the war planes fly over his head; each one unleashing a bomb at random in order to destroy whatever was below.

Specifically below it was his beloved home.

As he weaved in and out of the screaming citizens and buildings, each one more damaged than the last, he made sure that his breath (although was hefty) was steady. It would do him no good if he could no longer supply himself with enough oxygen to make it across the border; luckily he was a fast runner.

Suddenly, the Italian had tripped; dropping his ruined flag and landing on the ground face first. "Ouch!" Veneziano, dazed, looked up from the ground and turned to look behind him. It wasn't there. He made a sigh of relief. "Phew! For a moment there I thought-"

He paused upon seeing his boots.

Although they were long enough to let him run, he had forgotten not to make great leaps forward; the laces were tied together. "Hmm, I knew I should have let Germany teach me how to tie my shoe laces…" Veneziano voiced; disappointed that although he was technically an adult, he still couldn't complete a small task like tying his shoelaces.

Sighing lamentably, he picked himself off the ground, cautiously picked up his flag, and continued on. A sudden pain shot through the leg he put forward. "Uhn!"

The young country nearly collapsed from the agony; rubbing his sore calves that he had tortured to get this far. "Mhm…I guess I should rest my legs. Ow, ow, ow! Oh, that hurts!"

Painfully, Veneziano eased his way to what had appeared to be a safe spot amongst some rubble; crawling into a small, cave-like entrance and curling up into a ball small enough to fit. He was smaller than most countries, but it had seemed even he had to retract himself into a fetal position to make sure he was completely safe.

It had all seemed to kick off for Veneziano that morning. One moment he was sleeping peacefully in his bed, dreaming of pasta as per the usual in all its glory, the next he was awoken by a phone call from his boss. He hadn't heard exactly what it was that was said. Just something about how they had run out of white flags and an added whisper of how the military _may _have stolen all North Italy's pasta from his house.

Of course Veneziano didn't think too much about it, considering he was more concerned about whether or not Germany was going to favour running 300 laps in his training of Veneziano and Japan over lunch, but…now he had wished that he had listened.

Veneziano whimpered. He was shivering slightly from the cold, and had clutched tighter onto his flag; a source of comfort within the dimly lit shelter. "I don't know what's worse; my home and all it's beautiful art, culture and people being destroyed, or the fact that when I tried to cook myself some pasta …uh," a faint, low grumble erupted from his stomach, "I couldn't find any because the military took it all~!" he whined while he retracted his legs closer to his growling abdomen.

Distant sounds of a boot's heel scraping across the ground were heard.

Veneziano paused. Quietly, he listened to the rhythm of the footsteps. Yes…they were real, and they were slowly getting closer. Were they some desperate citizen looking for help, someone trying to find survivors…or was it the one who was chasing him? He started to panic. "No…please don't get louder. Please, I'm too young to die…" he whispered to himself fearfully; trying to make himself smaller, and in distress, tried to muffle the grumbles of his empty belly. For a brief moment, it had seemed that the Italian's wishes were granted; the footsteps stopping had left the sounds of crackling fire, war planes and shrill, far away screams fill the silence.

"Cosa…? They stopped?" Although he was glad, he was still feeling tense and had refused to loosen his muscles, deciding to stay in his compacted position. He had almost begun to feel safer. A hand reached from outside and grabbed Veneziano by the shirt.

"Aaaahh~! Please! Don't kill me! Ripped white flag, ripped white flag, ripped white flag~!" Veneziano screamed; stray pieces of the ripped flag frantically waving in the breeze created by him waving equally as wildly. The figure panted heavily and growled angrily. "Che palle! Che diavolo è sbagliato con te, fratello?" Veneziano stopped waving his flag. "H-huh? Romano? What are you doing here?"

"Asshole! Why didn't you stop when I chased after you? I was calling you and everything, you stupid idiota!"

Upon fully realising that it was indeed his beloved brother, Veneziano's terrified expression was replaced with a stupid, delighted smile. "Ah, Romano, you really scared me! I thought you were a scary monster chasing after me or something~!"

South Italy, his eyes closed in an annoyed manner, let go of his brother but had instantly whacked him on the head hard. "Why do I even bother with you, stupid Veneziano! Do you even realise what is happening here?"

"Eh…no, not really. The military stole my pasta that I just wanted to eat, so I went to buy some…" Veneziano replied with a confused emotion on his face; eyes closed as usual. Romano paused briefly at his brother's claim. "The military stole your food too? Did they not wake you up for war as well? Idioti!" Romano gritted his teeth in angst, but sighed upon remembering that when confronting the military about it, they nervously explained that they did it because they were running out of resources; stealing from their own country in order to survive.

They probably didn't want to wake his brother until they could replace the stolen food like with what they tried with him; unlike Veneziano, however, Romano had woken from the ruckus the soldiers made.

North Italy frowned. "So you don't have pasta? Aww…"

The sounds of his stomach grew louder; crying out to be heard and fed. Romano peered at Veneziano's abdomen and suddenly started to poke it; there was a concentrated, frustrated look to his face. Veneziano groaned slightly from the feeling of having his brother attack his poor, barren stomach. "Romano, please stop, it's not helping~!" Veneziano pleaded; almost like a whine. Romano shifted his gaze to his brother's eyes and poked harder. "Serves you right for being such an idiot. Hmph."

"Hola, mi amigos~!" Both Italians turned towards the source of the voice (one with a dazed appearance, the other with an annoyed frown), which had turned out to be a dirty and roughed-up-looking Spain; a huge smile on his face as per usual regardless of the state of his clothes and wounds in his left shoulder and kneecap. He was carrying what appeared to be a dirty, stained halberd with him in both hands. Romano screamed a shrill, girly scream.

"W-what the crapola are you doing here?" he demanded loudly; gritting his teeth as his shook his fists at his former carer. Spain, however, was not hindered by Romano's threatening gestures, and was instead laughing; greatly pissing off the raging Italian.

"Ah, mi tomate, you haven't changed a bit~ Even when the world is at stake, you're still stubborn as a mule. I'm glad…" Spain claimed; one of his hands releasing the intimidating weapon, and trying to reach his now free hand out to touch Romano's face. "Don't you touch me!" the older Italy yelled as he jerked away from Spain's hand and hid behind his younger brother; using him as a shield against the rejected Spaniard.

Veneziano (still confused from the pace of the situation), found himself in-between Romano and Spain, and could not help but stare at the wounds on the older country; gaining an interest in his condition. "Eh…? Fratello, what happened to your knee and shoulder?" he inquired; slightly worried for Spain's health.

Spain paused and looked down at his bleeding shoulder and kneecap in thought, but grinned again upon turning back to North Italy; eyes closed cheerfully. "Ah…I had a run in with Luxembourg. Don't worry about it…" he assured the worried Italian; yet somehow, Veneziano felt unconvinced…

Spain had opened his eyes suddenly in revelation, had reached from behind him, and extracted from his pocket a ripe, red tomato. He held it out towards the brothers with an eager but trembling hand. "H-here, mi amigos, I have a peace offering… You two are starving, sí?"

The two brothers stared at the tomato in hunger; both having very different views about the offering. Veneziano, obviously, grinned at the chances of eating breakfast and reached out to grab and eat it. It wasn't pasta, but at least it was something.

Romano instantly smacked his brother's hand that held the tomato in protest.

"No! Don't take that, fratello!"

North Italy looked hurt from the hit, and had begun to cry a little from the sharpness of it as his brother stood in Spain's way; his back to him coldly.

"But why, Romano? I'm hungry and I need food~~!"

"I'm not letting you eat such suspicious food from that bastard! He's filthy with dirt and blood, he's carrying a halberd with him that also has blood on it, and he's got that stupid happy-go-lucky asshole grin on is face! Besides, he took that tomato from his back pocket near his ass!"

"But I thought you liked Spain, Romano?"

"I…I never said I did! That's not important! Listen, fratello, you stupid idiot…"

Romano quickly grabbed North Italy by the shoulders and shook him; trying to get Veneziano to think for once. "Something isn't right with Spain! Look at the asshole," Romano, while grasping at Veneziano's collar, pointed towards Spain; who seemed dazed at Romano's allegations, "he is smiling _too_ much… Even he couldn't smile at what is happening right now! I know because I've had to suffer living with him for years!"

"Spain is just trying to be positive, right Spain?"

Romano whacked Veneziano's head harshly a few dozen times in anger; making the younger Italy cry louder with each hit to his head. "No, idiota! Look, things aren't right around here! Planes! Military stealing our food! Explosions! People _dying_! Something isn't right here, and even you have to be able to realise that!"

Veneziano tilted his head to one side in uncertainty. Everything was going too fast for him to keep up with mentally, he was still hungry, and he was unsure of how to react to his brother's harsh tone. Surely Romano was just in a bad mood and needed a hug.

"Someone sounds angry. I think that someone needs a hug~!"

Romano blinked. "Cosa?" Instantly, Italy had latched onto Romano; smiling weakly as Romano thrashed about in his grasp. "No! Veneziano! Stop your stupid hug therapy! I've told you this before!" Romano screamed at his younger brother; hitting him over and over again on the head in a continuous pattern. Finally, Veneziano had let go (albeit with a few extra bumps on his head) and had wiped his eyes of the stray tears that had formed from the pain; looking at Romano sorrowfully.

"Why, Romano…? You never want to hug me~" he cried out; a deeply disappointed look on his face. Romano just sighed; for once a truly upset and serious expression showed through. "Look, fratello, for once I think we have to be serious. We need to fight back."

"Eh…? Fight back? Isn't that what the military are doing?"

"Pah! The bastards aren't fighting; they are surrendering! No…I can't believe I'm saying this, brother, but we have to fight! There is too much to run away from. If we do run…we will eventually die, I fear…"

Veneziano scratched his head. What? Fight? Why was Romano so serious all of a sudden? A small bomb instantly exploded near the three; the two Italians screaming in fear, the Spaniard unhinged by both the blast and the sound. Romano quickly pulled his brother close to him; big brother instincts kicking in. "Veneziano! Are you-" Romano paused and refused to go further; but still held on to his younger brother.

"Romano! I'm scared~~!"

"Veneziano, listen carefully! I don't think we can run away anymore, little brother. I think…I think we have to-"

Romano was cut off sharply by a sudden interruption from Spain. The metal of his halberd plummeted down and was now embedded deep within half of the Italian's head (stopping at the bridge of the nose), spraying a bright colour of red onto the horrified younger Italian as he stared into the shocked, now dull eyes of his older brother. From the surprise, North Italy squished the tomato still within his hands hard, and the fruit splattered across his face the same as his brother's blood; the two liquid shades of red mixed. "Eh…? Fratello….R-Romano…?"

The Spaniard peered over at the still alive but terrified Italian; blinking and examining the blood/tomato juice on his face as he still grasped onto the handle of the halberd; slightly twisting the weapon to loosen it from Romano's skull.

A weak, gentle and disturbed grin formed from Spain's lips.

"You're so clumsy, mi norte de Italia. You got tomato all over you…"


End file.
